


Where Worlds Collide and Days Are Dark

by SparkleInTheStars



Series: Let The Sky Fall [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Bittersweet Ending, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Enthusiastic Consent, Experienced Crowley (Good Omens), Good Omens Big Bang, Historical, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Scene: Church in London 1941 (Good Omens), Scene: Church in London 1941 (Good Omens), Self-Sacrifice, Service Top Crowley (Good Omens), The Blitz, Top Crowley (Good Omens), Virgin Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:13:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22574587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkleInTheStars/pseuds/SparkleInTheStars
Summary: It’s been nearly eighty years since Crowley and Aziraphale have spoken.  While working in British Intelligence, Crowley gets wind of Aziraphale being caught up in a dangerous plot.  Worlds collide for angel and demon during the London Blitz, culminating in a night of passion and revelations.  Demonic miracles rescue books and win angel’s hearts in the dark of night, but what happens in the cold light of day?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Let The Sky Fall [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624261
Comments: 54
Kudos: 102
Collections: Good Omens Big Bang 2019





	1. A Thousand Miles and Poles Apart

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Artwork for Where Worlds Collide](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/556600) by Clenster. 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Aziraphale mistakenly believes he's helping British Intelligence, Crowley is actually working with them and gets word that the angel is in jeopardy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a while I’d wanted to write a story exploring the 1941 Church Rescue from the TV series further. The Good Omens Big Bang presented me with the perfect opportunity!
> 
> During a rewatch and seeing the James Bond bullet hole decals on the Bentley and thinking about the detail in the book, my mind went to the idea of Crowley being a spy. As I started to write out my idea, I put on _Skyfall_ by Adele on YouTube, accidentally selected one that was a 12 hour repeat of it and found my inspiration in the lyrics.
> 
> The title of the story and the chapter titles are derived from Adele’s _Skyfall_ , though they're unrelated to the film. There are a few easter eggs referencing some of the older films, I’ll confess I haven't seen any of the more recent James Bond films.
> 
> This story has a lot angst. A sequel fic with a happy ending is in the works.
> 
> I had the good fortune of being teamed up with [Clenster](https://clenster.tumblr.com/) on this project. She made all the amazing art for this fic! Be sure to check her work out on tumblr and comment on the incredible pieces she made for this story!
> 
> And as always, my eternal gratitude to my amazing beta, exspecialagentstarling!

Crowley was tired. Not a slight, could use a rest sort of tired, but a bones deep exhaustion that radiated through his body. Sleep might not be necessary for angels or demons, but he felt as though he could sleep for a thousand years as he entered the bar through the back entrance. Rest wasn't an option. He didn't know when it would be possible, only that he had to keep on going.

It was dimly lit, but then all lighting was since the start of the Blitz. The floor was a dark wood that the varnish had worn thin in places and peeled outright in others. Once the walls had been white, but a mixture of time and cigarette smoke had mellowed them to a soft tan. Adorning the walls were framed pictures of long forgotten officers; many covered over by newspaper clippings and pin up photos wedged against the glass. A haze of smoke hung low in the room as people indulged in what could be their last cigarette if they were unlucky on their way home.

"King and Country!"

He overheard a table of men toasting in one corner. Yes indeed. King and Country, that was what he was doing this for. Not his actual king or country, of course. Hell and it's ruler held little interest for Crowley. No. This was for England. He might not be an Englishman, but London had been his home since the city's earliest days. It was where he and Aziraphale had made their agreement. A part of their very identity was tied to the city. Not that he'd seen Aziraphale in decades. Or at least not up close.

Ever since their falling out over the holy water in 1862, he'd watched the angel from a distance. Seldom interfering, save that time he'd threatened Oscar Wilde and made it clear to the Hundred Guineas Club that Aziraphale was off limits. Crowley couldn't remember ever feeling lonelier than he had since their quarrel. Nearly eighty years wasn't that long in the grand scheme of their existence; they'd been apart for a hundred years at a stretch in the early days, but that was in the early part of their friendship and there wasn't a dark cloud hanging over it.

Perhaps he would find a way to talk to Aziraphale soon, he decided as the power flickered and the building shook from a cascade of bombs in the distance. The club was underground and probably one of the most secure spots in London. Admirals and generals sat drinking and planning, with women far too young to be their wives draped over them. The only men that weren't in some form of uniform were the bartenders who wore white jackets and Crowley, who wore a dark suit and hat.

"Anthony!"

Crowley inclined his head at the man at the bar. Dark haired and one of the youngest men there, Ian stood out among the sea of salt and pepper hair and war wizened faces. He walked towards the man and removed his hat as he took a seat beside him.

"Fleming."

"Ian, please. We're off duty."

"You and I are never off duty," Crowley said dryly. Then signaled the bartender. "I'll have a martini. Stirred, not shaken."

"How was your trip? You're always so bloody vague in your written reports."

"That’s because I'd rather tell you in person than let some secretary muck about and make a typo. I didn't risk discorporation to let some country lass looking for adventure botch things up.”

"Shall we?" Ian asked and gestured to a table that was empty in the corner.

Crowley threw some money on the bar and picked up his hat and martini to follow his companion.

"So, how far did you make it into Germany?"

"Far enough," he replied and slipped his hand in his jacket. He pulled out a tiny camera that fit in the palm of his hand and discretely put it under his hat on the table.

Ian didn't look down and kept his gaze fixed on Crowley. "Pictures? Anything of value?"

"I'd say so, but develop them and decide for yourself."

"Your King and Country owe you a debt."

Crowley laughed at that, a harsh bitter laugh and drained his martini except for the olive that he stared at. "Just want to keep this world intact."

"You're an odd one. But damn helpful," Ian replied as he ran a finger over the fedora on the table, edging it so the camera fell into his palm and he was able to slip it inside his jacket.

The power flickered as another barrage of bombs dropped nearby. Presumably Aziraphale had miracled his bookshop to keep it safe in the Blitz, but it didn't stop Crowley from thinking about him. Gun powder had been so exciting when they'd seen fireworks in China, but then it became a weapon. And the weapons had gotten bigger. Death tolls rose faster in battle now and civilian deaths increased ever higher. He wished he could talk to Aziraphale about it. There were things that he saw and felt that the angel was the only other being in the universe who could understand. Humans couldn't and demons couldn't. For that matter, angels other than his couldn't.

His angel. Yes, if he were honest with himself, Aziraphale was his. Had been from the moment they met in Eden and become friends. It wasn't a conventional relationship, but it was the only one that mattered to him. Stubborn and proud, Aziraphale was selfish at times, often difficult, and the thing Crowley cherished most in the universe. He loved him. Maybe he was even in love with him, but no good could ever come from it.

"Those girls have been staring at you for the past five minutes and you've been so busy scowling at your hat, you haven't even noticed."

Crowley shrugged, "What difference does it make? There's always someone to warm my bed when I want."

"They're gorgeous and they're headed this way."

A slim brunette in a white dress approached them and a plump blonde in a pale blue dress trailed after her.

"Gentlemen, I'm Louise and this is Lisette," the brunette introduced herself and her companion. "Mind if we join you?"

"Please do! I'm Ian," he said and indicated the seat in the booth next to him.

On the spot, the demon forced a smile. It wasn't the humans fault, he supposed as he gestured to the seat next to him. "Crowley. Anthony Crowley. Do let us buy you a drink, ladies."

He motioned for a bartender and they promptly came for their drink order. After his companions ordered, Crowley ordered his usual.

"I'll take a martini, stirred, not shaken."

"Why do you order them like that?" Ian asked.

"Shaking bruises the gin," Crowley explained as he was mentally calculating how long until he could escape.

A few moments later as their drinks arrived, a couple of older men in naval uniforms with young women on their arms and drinks in their hands appeared at their table.

"Mr. Crowley," the older of the two greeted him. "We owe you quite a debt, young man. I wanted to thank you for the intel last month. you saved two of our ships with it."

"A pleasure, Sir," Crowley replied politely.

"I also wanted to apologize for my wife's conduct outside the Ritz last week. If she knew, she never would have said those things. You understand, I hope."

"Of course," he replied. An angry woman giving him a verbal dressing down on the street was pretty low on the list of things he'd endured. "Have to keep up the appearance of the famous Mr. Crowley."

"Quite so," the man agreed and indicated to his companions to squeeze into the oversized booth.

A rapid excuse to escape was looking less likely by the moment.

"So you're _the_ Mr. Crowley?" Lisette asked softly.

"So it would seem," he answered and resisted the urge to miracle himself out and start drinking something far stronger than a martini.

Keeping up his persona was exhausting. When he'd first started the theatre before the war, it was a lark after he’d won it in a card game. Crowley was bored and he had hoped in the back of his mind that if he started up an outrageous girly show, that Aziraphale would come to him. He'd wanted the angel to come and yell, so he could smirk and ask him to lunch. They could put the holy water incident behind them and then-

Well, he hadn't really thought of _and then_. And it never occurred. Crowley's Cuties entertained the masses and lead married men to sin with his chorus girls; home office was pleased. Then the war broke out. Shortly after it started, he and Ian had crossed paths and Crowley had been recruited to spy. His powers mixed with his ability to function better under pressure than with planning made him a natural at the spy game.

Every day he thought of going to Aziraphale. Sometimes he would stand down the street and watch the front of the bookstore for an hour or more. He'd lean against a lamp post as he debated whether today was the day. Every mission into enemy territory, he'd wonder what Aziraphale would think of him risking discorporation for the sake of their home. London was home after all. The city had grown around them; they'd evolved and adapted with it. He couldn't let the only home they'd ever known go without a fight.

Neither Heaven nor Hell had ever been a home for Crowley. And he suspected that, although Aziraphale would rather discorporate than admit the shortcomings of Heaven, he felt the same way too.

***

Aziraphale sat in his shop and read by the dim light. Once in a while his eyes would move to a stack of book on prophecy he’d assembled. It had taken two weeks of searching to track them down but tomorrow night would be worth it. He'd been so flattered when Captain Rose Montgomery had come into his bookshop one rainy afternoon last month and begged for his assistance.

Heaven wouldn't allow him to fight in a human war and having fought in one war in Heaven, Aziraphale had no desire to fight again. But he felt a sense of concern for his neighbors and London was home, at least until his return to Heaven. So he'd been thrilled when presented with an opportunity to do his part and Gabriel would never need to know. After all, there were no miracles involved!

He smiled as he imagined telling Crowley about his adventure, then his face fell. It was foolish to even think of such a thing. Crowley hadn't reached out to him since their quarrel. He was still in the city, Aziraphale could sense him but he never saw him. Sometimes when he'd spot a slender red haired man, he'd do a double take, but it was always an ordinary human, not his demonic acquaintance.

Things had been rather quiet and lonely the past eighty years. Once in a while he'd try socializing with humans, but they died and they weren't able to relate to him in the same way Crowley could. Mention Rome and the humans would talk about the pope or the ruins of the Colosseum. But mention Rome to Crowley? They would bounce effortlessly from the time they had oysters to the Nero debacle. Rome would lead to that delightful time they were in Florence during the Renaissance.

Crowley was the only one who understood him. That was why he'd been so angry and hurt when his friend had asked for holy water. How dare he think of abandoning him like that?! Aziraphale still felt hurt well up inside him when he thought of it. Didn't Crowley understand? He meant so much to him and the thought of losing him was too much to bear.

He missed him, Aziraphale thought wistfully.

A series of bombs went off nearby and he shivered. He'd miracled protective measures on his shop and of course he would merely be discorporated; he wouldn't be killed if he was hit. But there was still a sense of discomfort as the bombs fell. There was a tiredness in the face of everyone he met on the street that, at times like this, he felt as well. One day a street had beautiful shops and the next, it was a pile of rubble from the German shells.

The phone rang and Aziraphale picked up; his heart leapt then sank as it always did when the voice on the other end wasn't the one he longed to hear.

"Mr. Fell," a soft female voice greeted him.

"Captain Montgomery," he replied politely.

"Pardon my calling at such a late hour, but I wanted to make certain that you were ready for tomorrow night and to see if you had any questions."

"Thank you. I'm quite all right. I have only to wait for their call to tell me where the meeting is to take place and then I call you."

"And my men and I will be there to back you up. That's exactly right. Now be sure not to talk to anyone about any of this. It's vitally important, Mr. Fell, that we maintain secrecy."

"Of course," Aziraphale agreed. "I've spoken to no one. I'll stay in my shop tomorrow until I get the call and then you can round them up."

"Round them up," Rose echoed over the line. "I'll talk to you tomorrow then."

"Good night."

A smile passed his lips as he hung up. Maybe when it was over, he'd take a bottle of scotch to Crowley's and simply drop in. They could talk about his adventure. Enough time had passed, maybe Crowley would apologize. Or maybe they could simply pretend the holy water incident had never happened altogether.

Yes, that was it. It had been nearly eighty years, surely Crowley would have abandoned any foolish plans to harm himself by now. They could move on and pick back up once more. It might be a bit awkward, but alcohol would smooth any awkwardness. Soon they would be back to meeting up at least once a month to catch up.

Aziraphale wandered down to the cellar to select the perfect bottle of scotch to take to Crowley's tomorrow night.

***

Crowley's face ached from forcing a smile as the evening progressed. He wanted to miracle himself out desperately, but Ian had leaned over and whispered in his ear to stick around because he had another assignment for him. So he carefully asked the plump blonde questions that allowed her to ramble while he pretended to listen. It wasn't her fault any more than it was any of the other humans at the table that they bored him. Well, Ian wasn't boring, but he was a far cry from Aziraphale's company. 

"So we're pretty sure Admiral Kirkwood’s secretary, Rose is the leak," Ian informed one of the older men at their table.

"And are you going to arrest her soon?" 

"We're holding off until we gather more evidence. I'm afraid she's tangled a civilian up in her latest misadventure. Hopefully they won't kill him. Odd fellow, but seems nice enough," Ian said with a shrug.

"Well, let's hope that Mr.-"

"Fell. Ezra or something like that."

Crowley's smile disappeared as he heard the name.

The older man continued, "-Mr. Fell doesn't end up another casualty of this damn war."

At that, the demon snapped his fingers and everyone in the bar froze except himself and Ian.

"The man, Fell. How's he tangled up in this?" Crowley demanded, his eyes blazing behind his sunglasses.

"Just some bookseller from Soho. He thinks he's helping catch Nazis, but really he's just a patsy."

"Where and when?"

"What difference does it-" Ian stared dazedly at Crowley. "What's happening?"

Crowley took a hold of Ian's lapels and ground out, "The bookseller. The Nazis. Tell me where. Tell me when."

"What's gotten into you?!"

"Tell me what I want to know or you won't live to regret not telling me, Fleming."

"Tomorrow night. Our cryptographers haven't been able to decipher the exact location, only something about a church from a note that was intercepted on it's way between Rose and her associates. There are hundreds of churches in London, it would take a miracle to find it."

Crowley jumped to his feet on the seat of the booth and stood up. "Miracles are my specialty."

Ian stared in shock as Crowley stepped onto the table and leapt to the floor. The demon snapped his fingers without turning to look back and the humans began to move once more. He shouldn't have left Fleming like that without making a suggestion he forget, but he had no time to lose if he was going to get to Aziraphale before he was potentially discorporated.

Discorporation might not kill him, but it sure as Heaven would hurt and Crowley didn't like the idea of head office laughing at Aziraphale. He'd heard too much over the years from the angel about Gabriel and his frequent displeasure. Once when they were very drunk, the angel had told him about the way the Archangel would emphasize the end of Aziraphale's name and pronounce it **fail**. It embarrassed Aziraphale that his superior would imply he was a failure and use his own name against him. Later the angel denied it when Crowley brought it up while sober, but he'd never forgotten.

It was one thing when he poked fun at Aziraphale, they were best friends and they teased each other. But the idea of someone else making fun of him was quite another. Best friends. They had been best friends. And they would be again. They had to. Look what happened when they weren't.

A sense of guilt welled up inside Crowley. It wasn't an emotion he felt often, but he felt it keenly now as he walked onto the streets and headed for the Bentley. Aziraphale was in danger and it was his fault; the angel would never have fallen for a spy's ruse if he hadn't been starved for company. The angel was too smart for that. Yes, it was his fault, Crowley decided. 

Headlights off to avoid attracting any German bombers, Crowley maneuvered the Bentley to Soho. He parked across the street from Aziraphale's bookshop. Inside, he could feel his friend's presence. All he had to do was go inside and-

And what?? It had been nearly eighty years. Why would Aziraphale believe him? He was a demon, as the angel frequently would point out when they kept company. After their rift and so much time had passed, there was no way he could make Aziraphale believe him. Crowley leaned his forehead against the steering wheel and cursed several times. Then sat up and started his car.

"There are hundreds of churches, I just need to find the right one. I'll save him and then we can put this behind us. He'll have to listen to me then," Crowley said as though saying it aloud would make it true.

Crowley drove swiftly through the streets of Soho and made his way back to his flat. The elegant old building in Mayfair contrasted severely with his fifth floor domicile. Dark grey concrete walls and minimal furniture. He had a massive gold desk with a blood red marble top and a gilded throne that sat at it. In the corner of the room was a smaller Queen's throne that he sometimes would stare at for hours and imagine Aziraphale reading in it. There were other rooms, but aside from the bedroom, his office with it's view of Parliament was the room the demon spent the most time in.

"Church. How to find the church?" Crowley grumbled to himself as he paced through the empty atrium. He really should get some plants, he thought briefly before draping over the throne at his desk and scowling in contemplation.

"There are countless churches in the city. Just need to figure out which one out of how many hundreds."

He picked up the phone directory and started to leaf through. Impatiently, Crowley stopped and stood up. He snapped his fingers and the directory began to open itself up and pages float in the air around him. Nazis were a nasty hateful lot so that ruled out any synagogues or mosques. They were also not keen on the Catholic church; viewed it as an opponent from what he'd gathered when he'd crossed enemy lines. But that was more fear of opposition, so perhaps-

"Catholic and protestant churches, Church of England and such."

As Crowley spoke, pages fell from the air to the ground but there were still many floating around him.

Frustrated, he looked upwards, "With so many people praying to you, couldn't you help just a little?"

"If not them?" the demon implored with a gesture at the window and the human world beyond. "Then for him? Please? He's the best of the whole wretched lot of angels you've got up there."

No answer. But then there never was. Not that it seemed to stop Crowley. He would continue to talk to Her until the day she answered him back. It shouldn't surprise him that his pleas were met with silence once more, but Aziraphale was an angel and he thought if anything might stir Her, that might. But no.

Swallowing the wave of bitter emotion that rose up in Crowley whenever he tried to talk to God and his words were met with silence, he squared his shoulders and he said, "Very well, I'll figure it out myself."

Snapping his fingers and miracling a bottle of scotch, he didn't bother with a glass as he sat on his throne and took a deep swallow. Papers slowly fell to the ground from the air as he no longer needed them. He would figure it out somehow. There had to be a way to keep Aziraphale safe, and he would discorporate before giving up.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> James Bond orders his martinis "Shaken not stirred" however Crowley orders the reverse. Martinis that are stirred are supposedly stronger, shaken in ice they're diluted according to what I read.
> 
> Also, I loved in the movie _Auntie Mame_ when Rosalind Russel said to stir, never shake that it bruised the gin. So I decided to incorporate it into Crowley's martini habit.


	2. Hold Your Breath and Count to Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley follows Aziraphale as the angel is getting ready for his big mission. Both angel and demon are haunted by thoughts of each other.

Aziraphale was listless as the sun rose and began to stream brightly in the windows of his shop. Today was the day. He would help thwart some very bad men without using his powers and then he would take the bottle of scotch that sat on the counter to Crowley's flat. The sun made the bottle gleam and threw golden light around it.

Golden like Crowley's eyes, he thought with a fond smile. Crowley had started concealing them back in Rome, but sometimes when they were alone he would take the sunglasses off. Or rather he had. Before their fight. It had been so long since the angel had seen the demon. He could feel his presence in the city; sometimes it felt so close, Aziraphale felt that if he turned around, Crowley would be standing there. But every time he turned, the demon was absent.

It was wrong to want to see him. But then there were so many undeniably wrong things Crowley made him want. Every glance from his serpentine eyes, every accidental touch, the rare intentional touches; they were all seared into Aziraphale's mind and left him wanting more. Not that he allowed his mind to dwell for long. Crowley was his friend, his best friend. It was just that he missed him and the excitement he felt at the prospect of seeing him.

A glance at the clock dishearteningly pointed out that it was only eight in the morning. There were hours until the phone call and even more hours after that until the meet and the bad guys were arrested. And then- Well he needed something to distract him, he couldn't very well think about Crowley all day now.

Perhaps a spot of breakfast, he mused.

He was supposed to wait in his shop for the phone call, but it wasn't supposed to happen until this afternoon. Surely he could go out for a bit this morning. As long as he was back before afternoon. It wouldn't do any harm.

Aziraphale popped across the street to a small café and ordered eggs benedict with bacon and tea. Options were limited with the war going on so he savored every bite. The food was simple but well made and he enjoyed the repast. Perhaps he would bring Crowley sometime, he thought as he dabbed his mouth with his napkin and miracled the money to pay the bill.

It had been so long since he saw Crowley, he thought and rubbed his chin. There wasn't any stubble, but the café clock read nine and Aziraphale felt tense. Perhaps a nice shave would help him relax. He left the café and headed down the block towards his barber. Unaware of the two men on opposite sides of the café watching as he left.

***

In a back corner, Crowley watched silently from behind a newspaper with a barely touched cup of coffee. He had arrived earlier and watched from the Bentley, then entered the café after Aziraphale. One way or another, he would keep Aziraphale safe. A large man had entered before Crowley that had evil coming off him in waves. Demonic senses on edge, he monitored the man as he surveilled Aziraphale.

The moment Aziraphale left, the man flashed a badge at the waitress and appeared to interrogate her. After a few minutes, the man left without paying. Irritated, Crowley miracled money to cover both bills. He toyed with flashing his credentials and questioning her, but there was no point. He needed to get eyes on Aziraphale as soon as possible.

As he went outside, he could see Aziraphale in the distance heading towards his barber's shop and he saw the large man following him. Newspaper under his arm, he walked casually in the direction of the barber shop. The heavy set man was doing a poor job of peering into a shop window while staring daggers at the door of the barber shop.

Definitely not an expert in surveillance, Crowley muttered and walked past the barber shop to a newsstand a few doors down. There were a pair of shoe shine chairs where a couple boys were waiting for customers.

"Shine?"

"Please," Crowley said and jumped up into one of the seats. He spread his newspaper open and allowed himself to gaze carefully from time to time in the direction of the barbershop and the man who stood outside. The elevated seat gave him an excellent view.

The boy shining his shoes tried to make small talk, but Crowley wasn't in the mood. He was worried about finding the church and keeping Aziraphale safe. He didn't like sitting out in the open like this and calmly watching. What he wanted to do was storm into the barber shop, demand Aziraphale listen to him and then-

Someone help him, he wanted to kiss him. Not one of the rare kisses Aziraphale would sloppily give him when drunk. No, he wanted to kiss Aziraphale. And not a brief simple kiss. But a kiss that would burned into the angel's memory until the end of time. Not an alcohol fueled clumsy exploration by the angel or like the one drunken night before their falling out he’d kissed Aziraphale back; but to take him and plunder his mouth with demonic abandon and to possess the sacred flesh and-

Crowley stopped himself. He was on a mission. A personal one, yes, but a mission never the less. Sex and desire were impulses to be put aside, they were to be used as a weapon in one's arsenal; the same as his pen that wrote underwater or the Walther PPK he'd stolen from a Nazi soldier he'd knocked out on his last mission. He'd miracled it so it would always hit anything he aimed at; though he’d fired it a handful of times, he’d never had to kill anyone.

The concealed weapon felt heavy against his side as he watched the man surreptitiously. His demonic actions may have lead to death, part of the job and while Crowley didn’t particularly like it, he accepted it. Never once had he considered deliberately killing a human outright. But for Aziraphale, the decision was incredibly simple. There was no sense of hesitation or concern for remorse. He was prepared to protect the angel at all costs.

***

Inside the barber shop, Aziraphale complimented his barber, “Excellent job as always, Isaac.”

“Would you like- ah never mind,” the grey haired man said.

“Like what?”

Isaac shook his head. “This is where I usually offer you an aftershave and you refuse. No point in asking.”

Aziraphale wavered. He never indulged in such things; they were an unnecessary vanity and yet, he suddenly felt his gaze drawn to the assortment of bottles on the shelves by the cash register. Tonight he would see Crowley, would it be so awful to indulge in a little vanity?

“You know what, I think I just might like to try one,” Aziraphale murmured. “What would you suggest?”

Isaac looked surprised but happily lead Aziraphale over to the bottles. “Are you looking for something to attract someone special?”

Making himself appealing to a demon was utterly unthinkable. Of course it was. Crowley was his friend, his best friend. Aziraphale loved him, but he was a being of love. It didn’t mean anything; it couldn’t, he thought with an odd feeling of sadness. Why did it bother him?

“Perhaps something with a floral musk?”

“No, I don’t think that sounds like me. I want something light, I think.”

“Something he, er they will only smell when they’re close to you?”

Close to Crowley, he mused. As if that would happen. Well, there had been a handful of times over the ages with a lot of alcohol in his system, Aziraphale had kissed the demon. But it had been a foolish impulse, nothing more. If Crowley had wanted more, he would have taken it. Unbidden, a shiver of desire ran down Aziraphale’s spine as an image of Crowley pushing him down and pressing against him rose up in his mind.

The handsome demon had plenty of mortals to warm his bed, Aziraphale had no doubt. It was best they’d never gone beyond drunken kisses. If he ever did more and his side found out, he would be demoted for sure. And he couldn’t bear to even consider what Crowley’s side might do.

“How about this one?” Isaac asked, flourishing a bottle at Aziraphale and breaking his reverie.

Aziraphale took a brief sniff and the notes of bergamot and cherry blossoms teased lightly at his nose. It was delightful smelling and with the war, the small barbershop could use the sale. Perhaps he’d buy it and wear it another time. It wasn’t for Crowley, it was for himself. Wasn’t it?

“Lovely, I’ll take it.”

“Excellent, that’ll be an extra-“

With a flourish, Aziraphale produced a five pound note.

“That’s way too much, Mr. Fell,” Isaac protested. “I couldn’t possibly.”

“Why don’t you send some of it to your son, is he still on the front lines?”

“He is, but we had a letter from Gideon last week. Surely the war can’t last more than a few months more.”

“I hope you’re right,” Aziraphale replied and slipped the small aftershave bottle into his jacket pocket. Though his wish was in earnest, he feared it would be far longer.

Walking outside, the angel decided to take the long way back to the bookshop to clear his head. He wanted to see Crowley tonight, but it wouldn’t do to be having flights of fantasy about his demonic friend. If they were mortal, he might give in to the urges that surfaced. But they were an angel and a demon, what possible future was there for them?  
  
***

Crowley tensed behind his newspaper as Aziraphale walked past him. He worried that the angel would notice him, but the angel seemed mercifully oblivious. The urge to follow him was intense, but the proper technique would be to surveil the man who was following Aziraphale. He turned his attention to the man and saw him go inside the barber shop.

Casting a glance at his watch, he decided to give the man five minutes before going into the shop. It would be best not to directly engage the target before the meeting tonight. Patience was not his strong suit, but as Ian always reminded him, timing was everything in the spy game.

He ought to check in with Ian. Tonight they had a meeting scheduled and Crowley wouldn’t be there. Couldn’t risk calling him. Have to take the hidden entrance to his earthly head office, he decided.

With one minute left on Crowley’s watch, the man exited the barbershop and headed down the street in Aziraphale’s direction. Reluctantly Crowley went into the barbershop.

Reaching inside his jacket pocket, he produced his official security ID and flashed it at the grey haired man.

“That man who was in here just now, what did he want?”

“He said he was with the police and was asking questions.”

“About Az- er Mr. Fell?” Crowley inquired as the barber shifted nervously. “He may be in grave danger. That man who was asking about him isn’t with the police, we think he may be a foreign operative.”

“He wanted to know what Mr. Fell talked about. I told him he talked about his bookstore and bought some cologne.”

“I’m going to give you a card,” Crowley told him and reached inside the interior breast pocket of his jacket for a card. It was blank except for a number. “Call that number, give your name and say you have an update for double O Six. Repeat that back to me.”

“I call the number, give my name and say I have an update for double O Six.”

“Your King and Country appreciate,” Crowley told him and the man eased slightly as the demon walked out the door.

Nothing put humans at ease like knowing they had pleased an authority figure. It was unlikely the barber would have any information worth his time, but one never knew. Some of the breaks British Intelligence had gotten since the start of the war had come from unlikely sources.

Crowley left the barber’s shop and headed down the street in the direction Aziraphale had headed. While he couldn’t see the angel, he could feel the angelic presence and it drew him. If he closed his eyes and reached out, there was nowhere on earth that he couldn’t feel Aziraphale.

But he needed to try keep a close eye on him for tonight. Crowley still had nightmares about how narrowly he’d managed to rescue Aziraphale from discorportation in the Bastille. If the Reign of Terror hadn’t succeeded in taking the angel out, Crowley sure as Heaven wasn’t letting a couple Nazis take him out.

In the distance, he spotted the heavy set man and he purposely slowed his pace. Patience. He was on a mission and that meant being patient and curbing his impulses. Impulsiveness was a luxury Crowley couldn’t afford right now.

“Should’ve taken him over my knee back at the bloody Bastille; never would be in this mess,” Crowley muttered to himself in annoyance.

***

Aziraphale paused in front of the tailor’s window. There was a fedora that straddled the line between tan and ivory, shining temptingly in the window. He wasn’t a dandy by any means, but the war meant new clothing was an indulgence. There was a suit in his closet he’d purchased just before England went to war; he’d only worn it once to dinner at the Savoy.

He thought he’d felt Crowley’s presence, but it must have been wishful thinking; the demon never crossed his path that night. Tonight they would cross paths though; he was going to Crowley’s flat after he helped Captain Rose capture those dreadful men.

Perhaps a new hat to go with his suit? Aziraphale hesitated and bit his lip as he looked in the window. Gabriel enjoyed human style, but he certainly wouldn’t approve of fixing up for a demon. But then he wouldn’t ever find out. It was a rather small sin as sins went. And he certainly could wear his hat on other occasions.

He was still wavering even as he walked inside and was greeted by the proprietor.

“Mr. Fell,” a slim man with thick gray hair and a full beard greeted him.

“Good morning, George. I couldn’t help noticing the hat in the window-“

The man lit up at the prospect of a sale and grabbed the hat from the window. “It’s very stylish. I’m sure the ladies would swoon over it Let’s try it on you.”

A moment later, Aziraphale stood wearing the hat in front of the mirror. Elegantly straddling the line between contemporary style and his personal aesthetic, the fedora was hard to resist. The man stepped away for Aziraphale to admire himself.

He imagined himself holding the bottle of scotch at Crowley’s door and he smiled at his reflection. Then he took the hat off to see how much it ruffled his hair when he removed it. Crowley never seemed to have those troubles that he could ever recall, but then nearly every stitch the demon had ever worn had been miracled.

Aziraphale turned towards George to tell him he would take the hat when a small patch of tartan fabric peeking out between ties on a table caught his eye. Gingerly, he slid the silky fabric out. It was a bow tie, still crisp and new.

“It’s very stylish. One of the latest trends,” the man assured him.

“I think,” Aziraphale began then hesitated for a moment. “Yes, I think I’ll take this as well.”

“Excellent I’ll calculate your total.”

“Perfect, thank you.”

As the man calculated, a heavy set woman came through a set of curtains with a black suit in her hands. Unceremoniously, she dumped it on the counter.

“The groom was called into service and won’t be back to pick up his suit; his mother called to let us know,” the woman informed George before disappearing again.

“Too bad,” George said. “It was one of the nicest we ever made, but I doubt we’ll ever find anyone who’ll fit it.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale asked. He wasn’t really that interested but sometimes letting someone vent was as kind as any miracle.

“The groom was a bit over six feet tall and one to the skinniest chaps I ever laid eyes on.”

A slight smile played on Aziraphale’s lips at the description that made him think of a certain red haired demon. The dark suit was exactly the sort that Crowley would wear. He ran his fingers over the fabric; the wool was particularly fine and had an expensive feel.

“My dear friend Crowley would look very handsome in that suit and about that size. I’m going to see him later tonight. Perhaps I’ll tell him about it if the opportunity presents itself.”

Aziraphale gave a final fond look at the suit, then paid for his purchases, and left. He didn’t notice the man who immediately entered the store as he went round the corner.

***

Crowley hissed under his breath; he was growing more impatient by the minute. He was no closer to finding the church and the man was taking longer than he had in the barber shop. What in the Heaven had Aziraphale gotten himself into anyway?

The man finally left and Crowley counted mentally to a hundred before going into the shop and flourishing his credentials.

“The man that was in here, was he asking about Mr. Fell?” 

George looked worried. “The man had a badge.”

“A fake one. Mr. Fell is a valuable asset and we have reason to believe he’s in danger. What can you tell me about that man?”

“Well, he wanted to know what Mr. Fell was doing in here. So I told him about him buying a hat. That is, he was going to buy a hat and then he-“

“Right,” Crowley cut him off with a fast upward snap. “Don’t have time. Tell me quickly, what did you tell him?”

Staring blankly, George complied and spoke rapidly. “Mr. Fell bought a hat and a bow tie. He liked the suit and said his dear friend Crowley would look handsome in it.”

“And that’s all you told him about Mr. Fell?”

“Yes.”

“Did the man say anything else?”

“Only that he wanted to know about where Marylebone Street is located.”

“Excellent. And uh, what size is the suit?” Crowley asked and looked to examine the tags.

Two minutes later, George stood dazedly with nearly twice the cost of the suit in hand and Crowley walked out with the suit wrapped up and slung over his shoulder. He turned his wrist to examine his watch once more. Eight hours in which to check in with Ian and narrow down which church on or near Marylebone Street.

Crowley walked briskly back towards his Bentley. He had a mission and it was too important to screw up. Aziraphale was depending on him, whether he realized it or not. Hopefully he could persuade Ian to put the resources at HQ at his disposal to figure out which church.

New suit spread across the backseat, Crowley started the car and made his way through London to head office. If they could figure out the location of the church, perhaps he could convince Ian to send in some back up. But whatever happened, he would find Aziraphale and protect him no matter the cost.

When he was near enough headquarters secret entrance, Crowley parked the Bentley in front of a small restaurant and got out. When he went inside, he was greeted immediately by a waitress in the small restaurant that served as a front for the hidden entrance.

“Would you like a table, Sir?”

“I’d like a table in the back please. And perhaps you could list the specials for me?”

The bleached blonde raised her eyebrow very slightly and picked up a menu. “This way, please. We have a Reuben on special today.”

“Sounds great. I think I’ll wash up first.”

“Through there, love,” the woman murmured and pointed to a set of doors before walking away.

Crowley walked past the lavatory doors to a small painting in a hidden alcove. Sliding the painting to the side revealed a button which he pushed and waited. The alcove slid back, revealing a set of steps and Crowley descended. He didn’t enjoy his earthly head office much more than his Hellish one, but he wouldn’t fail his friend.

***

Aziraphale stood in his shop and quietly examined his new hat before placing it on the hat rack. It would be vanity to continue looking at it. Part of him wished he might put on his new tartan bow tie, but he wanted it to look perfect for seeing Crowley, after he finished assisting Rose of course.

Every time thoughts of the demon came up of a sad nature, he’d done his best to push them aside; however now that he was on the brink of seeing him, his feelings were in absolute turmoil. Evening couldn’t come soon enough He could scarcely remember the last time he felt such an intense sense of anticipation since he’d heard he was going to Eden to see Her new creation.

Why did he feel such excitement? It was as if the blood in his corporation was murmuring Crowley’s name in his veins. Whenever he saw his demonic companion, he felt a lift in his spirits, but this? Oh this felt so strange. Almost as if he had been drinking, he felt such giddiness.

Last time he’d seen Crowley, mutton chops had been in style. It was the only time that the small snake tattoo had ever been hidden from view. Men were clean shaven now, so it would likely be on full display once more. What would it feel like to touch it? Aziraphale had never touched the small mark on Crowley’s temple and now he wondered what it would be like to trace it.

A blush covered his face. It was positively shameful, sitting around like a school girl with a crush Crowley was his friend and a demon. Angels didn’t indulge in silly romantic notions about other angels, let alone demons Embarrassed by his flight of fancy, Aziraphale went to the front door and turned the sign to “OPEN”. Perhaps it would do him good to be distracted by a customer or two while he waited for the phone to ring. Soon he would know where the meeting was and it would provide a more appropriate outlet for his thoughts than Crowley.

Rose had told him not to talk to anyone about his mission, but she hadn’t told him not to open his shop. It would look far more suspicious if he didn’t open. Yes, perhaps opening was best, Aziraphale fretted to himself as he walked back to the register to stare at the phone.

Was he being watched? He hadn’t considered the possibility, but he hadn’t performed any miracles this morning. Gabriel had been sending him stern notes lately about frivolous miracles. And it wasn’t like Heaven couldn’t randomly observe him at any time, though somehow Aziraphale doubted that; given Gabriel’s disdain of humanity, it was unlikely he was observed on earth very often.

Sometimes it bothered him, being considered insignificant by the Archangels, but given the feeling of dread that had washed over him a few days before his shop opened when Gabriel was going to promote him back to Heaven, perhaps it was better to be ignored. He wouldn’t be here now if it hadn’t been for Crowley’s demonic trickery.

Aziraphale closed his eyes, he could still taste the creamy sweetness of the chocolates Crowley had brought him and heard the rich cadence of Crowley’s laugh as he recounted how he fooled Gabriel with a dressmaker’s dummy draped in fabric and a bit of improvisation in the alley behind the Archangel’s tailor.

They had gotten drunk celebrating and the evening had ended up in wine soaked kisses until Crowley had suggested they sober up. Aziraphale didn’t allow himself to think of that night often, but he sometimes wished the demon hadn’t proposed sobering up. The demon had wrapped his slim arms around the angel and held him tightly. It had felt like the two of them were perched on the edge of the universe. That time Crowley had returned his kiss. Or at least Aziraphale thought he had. The evening was a mixture of hazy memories and details that seemed burned into his soul.

“This will never do,” Aziraphale chided himself. It wouldn’t do to think about Crowley like this or he would lose his nerve about seeing him later. Not to mention it was wildly inappropriate. He grabbed the bottle of scotch from the counter, hid it underneath from view of customers and busied himself with shelving a couple misprint second editions he would part with if he had to.

***

Crowley walked through a dimly lit corridor and stopped when he met up with four heavily armed guards.

“ID,” the youngest of them demanded.

“Have you got cotton for brains, lad?” an older soldier snapped at him. “Sorry about that Mr. Crowley.”

“It’s quite all right, gentlemen,” the demon assured them as they scrambled to open a heavy steel door for him. He suppressed a smirk as he heard them talking in his wake about the daring Agent Crowley and his exploits. It was amusing at times to hear mortals talking about him in awed tones. Not that their opinions carried much weight. The only opinion Crowley cared about other than his own was Aziraphale’s.

Through the door were more guards, but they recognized him instantly and said nothing as Crowley went up a set of stairs and through another door. Men in uniforms bustled about as women in simple, severe dresses ran around after them.

Crowley knew Ian was likely in his office, but decided to take a short detour by the code breaker’s department. He spotted a prim looking middle aged woman he remembered seeing before. What was her name? Pennysomething?

“Miss Pennycook,” Crowley purred, removed his hat with a flourish, and sat on the edge of her desk. He flashed her a seductive smile. It was a bit unfair, using a technique that had bent humans to his will for centuries, but he needed information.

“Agent Crowley,” the woman stammered as her face turned red. “What can I do for you?”

“Careful Miss Pennycook, that is a very tempting question for a man like me.” The woman blushed further as Crowley smiled wickedly. A moment later he dropped his voice slightly and murmured, “As a matter of fact, I could use a little information. Could you tell me if there’s been any chatter over the wires about anything on Marylebone Street? Particularly a church?”

“Anthony ”

Crowley felt annoyed as he heard Ian’s voice, but clicked his tongue provocatively at Miss Pennycook and left his hat on her desk as he got up.

“Fleming.”

“I thought we weren’t meeting until tonight,” Ian replied and gestured in the direction of his office. Before Crowley could respond, the man added, “You hate coming here.”

“I don’t know, the office has certain charms.”

“Miss Pennycook isn’t your type. Half the women in the office call you double O six six six and the other half call you double O sixty nine.”

“So I’m a wicked and evil man,” Crowley told him with a shrug. “Are we going to talk about my next assignment or my bad reputation?”

Ian lead Crowley into his office and closed the door behind them. “That depends. I heard you mention a church out there. You’re not still on about that bookseller are you?”

“And if I was?”

“If a civilian dies, it’s tragic. But you know our resources are too precious to waste on small matters.”

“I doubt that civilian feels his life is a small matter, Fleming.”

“You never care about individuals. Hell, most of the time I don’t think you even care about yourself. It’s why you’re such a damn good agent. Do you have a personal connection of some sort with-“

“What I do on my time is my business,” Crowley ground out behind clenched teeth. This was private and he wasn’t about to discuss Aziraphale with any human.

“Not while you’re my agent.”

So that was it. Fleming thought he was entitled to know Crowley’s business. If he didn’t let his Hellish employers know what was in his heart, he sure as Heaven wasn’t about to let a human know. Well, it had been nice while it lasted. Aziraphale took precedence over being an agent.

“Eassssily remedied, Fleming,” Crowley hissed.

“Crowley, you have done amazing things for this country and we owe you a lot-“

“Damn right.”

“But if you leave my office and pursue any action, it will cost you your gun and credentials.”

“So be it,” Crowley told him, reaching in his jacket for his ID and tossing it on Ian’s desk. He briefly hesitated as he reached for his gun. It wasn’t official issue, he’d taken it off a Nazi a few months back. But he’d managed thousands of years without a weapon; Fleming could have his prize. With a flourish he placed the gun on the desk.

“I hope this bookseller is worth it,” Ian spat angrily.

“He is,” Crowley replied as he turned and left.

On his way out, Miss Pennycook was standing and twisting his hat. Crowley took it and felt triumphant as his hand brushed a piece of paper inside the hat.

“Thank you, Miss Pennycook,” Crowley told her and walked swiftly towards the hidden exit.

Minutes later, Crowley sat in his car and he unfolded the piece of paper.

_8:00 St. Dunstan near Regent Park_

Now to figure out how in the Heaven he was going to walk into a church, Crowley thought as he started the Bentley and navigated through the streets of London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley would later insist he was the first person to dramatically hand in his gun and badge. Although this has never been proven.


	3. Skyfall Is Where We Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley dances with danger and into Aziraphale's heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter uses dialogue excerpts from the Church rescue scene from the series script. In an effort to bring a fresh perspective, I tried exploring Crowley's POV for part of it and when in Aziraphale's to focus on the emotional aspects.

Aziraphale had managed to distract himself for several hours, but as morning stretched into afternoon, he watched the phone anxiously. He hoped nothing would interfere with or delay tonight’s mission. Ever since he’d decided to tell Crowley about his adventure, he’d felt such a sense of anticipation. Certainly he’d been aware he’d missed the demon, but it wasn’t until he was about to renew their acquaintance that the full depth of missing Crowley hit.

For nearly eighty years Aziraphale had read books, sampled a variety of restaurants, and provided small blessings throughout London. It filled his days, but it didn’t satisfy him. There was something missing and now it struck him that Crowley was what had been missing. It wasn’t a happy realization.

Angels and demons weren’t supposed to associate, much less be friends. And Crowley was his best friend. Aziraphale tried to think if there were any angels of his acquaintance whom he’d consider a friend and came up empty. Millions of angels in the universe and Aziraphale’s only friend was a demon.

“How much is this book?” A feminine voice drew Aziraphale’s thoughts back.

“It’s very expensive,” the angel replied automatically as he turned and was stunned to see Rose.

“I’m surprised you’re open, Mr. Fell,” Rose said, scarcely above a whisper.

“I decided it might look suspicious if I didn’t open. I’ve been keeping regular hours for the past eighty, er, eight years,” he replied in a hushed tone.

“Excellent idea. I’ve got agents watching the shop to ensure your safety. I’ll expect your call later about the meeting,” she said softly. Then in a louder voice for any customers nearby to hear, Rose added, “I’m afraid it’s out of my price range. But let me write down my number in case you are willing to negotiate.”

She set the book on Aziraphale’s desk, scribbled on a notepad beside it, and handed him the piece of paper before leaving. Aziraphale read it as she left the shop; it was the same number she’d given him previously when she’d recruited him. He suppressed a smile as he returned the book to it’s rightful place.

The phone was deafeningly silent for the remainder of the afternoon. Aziraphale felt disappointed when the call still hadn’t come at four when he closed his shop. He’d been so excited about the prospect of seeing Crowley, he’d pushed aside any possibility that the meeting would fall apart.

On his way to the kitchen to make a cup of tea, Aziraphale stopped as the phone rang suddenly, the sound echoing through the empty shop.

“Hello,” Aziraphale answered breathlessly.

“Mr. Fell?” a masculine voice said on the other end.

“Speaking.”

“It’s Glozier.”

“Mr. Glozier.” This was it! The call he’d been expecting!

“Tonight at eight. St. Dunstan near Regent Park.” Then the line went dead.

Excitement welled up in Aziraphale’s chest as he hung up. Then he immediately dialed Rose.

“Miss Montgomery? They called.”

“That’s excellent. When and where is the meet?” she asked.

“Eight at St Dunstan near Regent Park.”

“Splendid! Your country certainly owes you a huge debt, Mr. Fell,” Rose praised him. “I’ll see you outside the church before you go in and then my men will take them into custody.”

“See you then. Pip pip.” Aziraphale said and hung up.

He went to the back of the shop where he’d hidden the prophecy books he’d gathered for the deal. No Agnes Nutter, but then no one had Agnes Nutter’s book. If it weren’t for the book catalogue he’d found once, he’d have dismissed the book as nothing more than a rumor. Books in hand, Aziraphale placed them on the desk and bound them carefully with twine.

Once he was satisfied with the books, Aziraphale pulled the bottle of scotch out and placed it on the desk. He probably should leave it and come back for it. After all, he didn’t want to risk one of the ruffians destroying it when they were surrounded. No, he’d leave the scotch here.

Maybe he could wear his new hat and tartan bow tie though? It might give him a bit more confidence and Rose had assured him he wouldn’t come to any harm. She had assured him there would be more than a dozen agents ready to apprehend the Nazis and put a stop to their treachery.

Perhaps he would get out the new suit he’d bought just before the war broke out. He’d only worn it once to a concert; he could have sworn he felt Crowley that night and after that, Aziraphale felt sad when he looked at the dashing pale tan suit. But tonight he would see Crowley and he wanted to look his best. Yes, he would change into the suit for a bit of extra panache as he fulfilled his mission and then he would take the scotch to Crowley and tell him all about his caper.

Smiling, Aziraphale headed into the back of the shop to the armoire where he stored his wardrobe.

“Wily serpent,” he sighed affectionately as he pulled out his suit to dress for his mission.

***

Crowley had driven past the church several times before heading home. It was pretty standard as churches went in the city. Soaring gothic architecture in the Hawksmoor style and over 200 years old. It was an excellent choice of meeting spots. Churches were empty most nights as London’s faithful took shelter underground in the tube. A clandestine meeting would go unobserved in a church.

Now he just had to figure out how the Heaven he could get into the church, Crowley decided back in his flat. He poured a drink and paced around. The easiest thing would be to stop the meeting from ever taking place. But he didn’t know how many people were involved. If any were still lingering about, Aziraphale might be taken in by them in another scheme.

No, he needed to make sure all Nazis involved in this plot were dealt with completely. And Aziraphale needed to know he’d been duped. He understood the angel wanting to help with the war, but Aziraphale wasn’t cut out for the spy business. Although the angel was capable of lying when it suited him, he still believed in the innate good in people.

Humans were clever and most wanted to be good. But Crowley hadn’t Fallen for accepting things at face value. Questions had landed him in Hell and his time in Hell had made him wary of where he place his trust. Most demons were untrustworthy and Crowley regarded humans with a wary eye. The only being he’d ever been able to trust completely had been Aziraphale.

Crowley sat in his throne and stared blankly. He could still remember their fight in the park. Aziraphale walking away was the last time he’d seen anything but a glimpse of the angel. His words about fraternizing still haunted Crowley.

Logically he knew that Aziraphale had intended it as a comment on their being on opposite sides, but the word also had a romantic and sexual connotation. Crowley had been surprised by the angel’s choice of words and it had made him angry - angrier even than the refusal to give him holy water.

For thousands of years they’d danced around each other. Every encounter had an undercurrent of verbal foreplay. For someone’s sake, they had kissed and touched in the back of Aziraphale’s shop while drunk only a couple nights before their fight!

It was the first time Crowley had ever allowed himself to fully kiss Aziraphale back. He’d kissed the angel until they were both dizzy. His mouth slid over the tender flesh of Aziraphale’s neck and left a series of marks. Aziraphale had leaned back on the sofa and urged him to continue.

At that point Crowley insisted they sober up before they went any further. He wanted their first time to be special and he wanted to be sure it was what Aziraphale had wanted. Sober, Aziraphale had pulled back and blushed. Crowley had accepted and decided to wait until the time was right.

The word fraternizing had stung when they met up in the park. And then it had escalated so fast.

_“Fraternizing?!” Crowley spat in anger._

_“Whatever you wish to call it,” Aziraphale dismissed. “I do not think there is any point in discussing it further.”_

_On the surface he meant the holy water, but Crowley knew he meant he didn’t want to discuss them. Right there in that moment, he knew Aziraphale was saying there was no relationship. That their recent explorations were at an end._

_Furious, Crowley hissed, “I have lots of other people to fraternize with, angel.”_

_“Of course you do.” The angel’s voice had held a mixture of hurt and contempt as he spoke. Moments later they had parted company._

Tonight he would help Aziraphale and they would put this behind them. Nearly 80 years had passed and he missed the angel’s company. He would apologize and then they could be friends once more. It had been foolish of Crowley to let himself get carried away with Aziraphale. Life with Aziraphale on any terms was better than existing without him.

Maybe he should rethink the new suit, Crowley thought as he looked over at the black fabric spread on the smaller companion throne. But then, if one was going to do something, they should do it with style, he decided as he got up. A snap of his fingers and his clothes were changed into the suit Aziraphale had admired.

Pride was a deadly sin, so really as a demon, the suit was practically a job requirement. He picked up his hat from the desk and walked over to a mirror to admire his reflection. Crowley wasn’t much for hats, but the hat was bullet resistant, a gift from the inventors at British Intelligence. A small twinge of regret rose up and dissipated. Crowley would miss spying, but Aziraphale was all that mattered.

A glance at his watch and a flourish of his hat with a satisfied grin at his reflection, Crowley headed out.

***

Aziraphale paid the cab driver and got out a block away from the church. It amazed him how many cab drivers would still brave driving in the blitz, but then almost everyone who wasn't in the armed services was trying to make a living Many of them were older men who wore tin hats they'd worn in World War I as protection as they drove in the shadow of air raids. The angel was running late; too much time thinking about Crowley as he put on his best suit.

He walked more briskly than he normally would as he made his way up towards the church. In the shadows, he was blocked by Rose as she stepped out from behind a phone booth.

"Mr. Fell, you had me worried!"

"My apologies, Captain Montgomery. I got caught up getting ready and the time got away from me."

"Not to worry, they're still inside the church," Rose assured him. "Do you have the books?"

"All but one, the publisher destroyed all the copies of it. But I found the publisher's catalog from 1635, interestingly enough-"

Rose interrupted his rambling. "That's perfectly all right, Mr. Fell. They'll be well distracted with the volumes you were able to locate."

"Jolly good."

"Now, you didn’t tell anyone what you were doing?"

"I had the cab drop me off down a block away from the church. But I didn't tell him where I was heading. I'm hoping to meet up with a friend later, but I didn't say anything to him. It's a surprise."

"So you're quite alone and there's no chance anyone followed you?" Rose asked, looking around as she spoke.

"Followed me?" Aziraphale frowned slightly at that. Something felt a bit odd. "Why?"

"I wanted to make sure there weren't any other civilians around," she explained. "My men are hidden about and at the ready. I don't want them to mistake an innocent civilian for one of the people or worse to divert their attention from the mission. You're saving countless lives by helping us here tonight."

Aziraphale relaxed. It made sense that Rose would want to keep London's citizens safe. His smile returned.

"Now, my men will remain hidden until I give them the signal. So just like we discussed, go inside, show them the books and then we'll arrest them."

With a tip of his hat, Aziraphale walked towards the church. He felt a nervous excitement rather than fear. This was the moment he’d been anticipating and soon the mission would be a success and he could reconcile with Crowley. It would all be quite splendid!

An air raid siren began to sound as Aziraphale entered the church. He paused in the vestibule to offer a prayer for the souls that would be lost before the night was out. It bothered him knowing every time the siren sounded, lives would be lost. However, he was doing his part to help stop the war tonight. 

Squaring his shoulders, he entered the sanctuary. It was lit with candles much as it had been when the church had first been built. In the blitz it was best not to have bright electric lights on at night, lest it attract the attention of a German bomber. Aziraphale paused at the end of the aisle and removed his hat out of respect for the Almighty as opposed to social convention.

Confidently he headed towards the pulpit where two men sat waiting. Aziraphale recognized Mr. Glozier and Mr. Harmony from the meeting two weeks ago that Rose had set up for him outside a tube station. The angel fought to suppress a triumphant smile that threatened to burst forth on his face. He was so close to completing his mission!

***

Crowley watched silently from the Bentley as Aziraphale entered the church. The woman the angel had been talking to was still outside and had pulled a gun out of her handbag. She was checking her weapon with the ease of someone who’d held a firearm many times. He suspected she was the admiral’s secretary that was under suspicion. What was her name again? Violet? Pansy? Some flowery name, Crowley thought with irritation. It didn’t matter. He was here for Aziraphale.

Now, how in the Heaven did he get into the church? Would he discorporate just walking in? Hastur once claimed that demons discorporated just entering a church. But Hastur wasn’t known for his honesty. This was Aziraphale, so surely She wouldn’t let Crowley discorporate saving one of Her angels.

The woman with the flower name was going inside the church. Whatever was happening must be happening soon. Crowley got out of the Bentley and slunk through the darkness to the church. He stood beside it and reached out with his mind; it took a minute as the air raid siren had been sounding continuously and was distracting. Inside he sensed Aziraphale and three humans. There were also German bombers in the sky above; his demonic senses detected the ill intentions of the pilots.

Stepping onto the first step, Crowley felt a small electric twinge of discomfort. Then took another step, the feeling of discomfort increasing slightly as he reach the door. Looking up at the sky, Crowley tried to bargain.

“We don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things. But I’m not letting Aziraphale get discorporated. He’ll never live it down with the purple eyed tosser, Gabriel. I can’t promise I won’t do bad things, not like I get a choice. Just, if you could- please just let me get Aziraphale out of there without either of us discorporating?”

Crowley gave a final hopeful look before opening the door. “Right then. Here goes.”

In the church vestibule, Crowley began to feel genuinely uneasy. He felt a strange warmth on the underside of his feet.

“Right, everyone round them up!” Aziraphale’s voice echoed through the church and reached Crowley’s ears.

Had Ian decided to send agents to help? Taken the angel in confidence? Crowley hesitated. If Aziraphale didn’t need him, he’d look ridiculous coming running in to rescue him.

Crowley moved a bit closer to the doors that lead into the sanctuary. He heard voices, but no sound of agents descending. Worse, he felt a sudden spike of anxiety and fear coming from Aziraphale. That was that. Nothing to do but enter the sanctuary and rescue the angel.

As Crowley went through the doors, he heard Aziraphale exclaim, “You can’t kill me! There will be paperwork!”

Blood running cold, the demon no longer was worried about discorporating; his only concern was getting to Aziraphale. The heat underneath his feet was intensifying, but Crowley had to get to him. Warmth radiating through the bottom of his shoes was starting to hurt; not unbearable but each step was painful.

Unable to stop himself from hissing and saying “Ow!”, Crowley gingerly made his way up the aisle to Aziraphale and the Nazis, two of whom had guns trained on the angel.

Aziraphale turned and stared at him; Crowley almost faltered in his steps, seeing the angel’s face up close for the first time in nearly eighty years.

“Sorry! Ow! Consecrated ground! It’s like being at the beach in bare feet,” Crowley explained, feeling silly as he leapt from one foot to another.

“What are you doing here?” Aziraphale’s tone was accusatory and annoyed, not the joyful reunion the demon had hoped for.

“Stopping you from getting into trouble! Ow!”

“I should have known. Of course these people are working for you,” the angel accused.

Crowley felt a wave of pain that had nothing to do with the heat under his feet. Did Aziraphale really think so little of him?

Incensed, he replied, “No! They’re a bunch of half witted Nazi spies! I just didn’t want to see you embarrassed. Ow! Ow!”

If anyone was embarrassed, it was him, Crowley thought in annoyance as he stood in front of them and danced back and forth trying to work through the pain. As bad as it had been going up the aisle, it had gotten even more intense up by the altar.

No mortal weapons, just miracles at their disposal. He needed to think fast and save them both or they’d both get shot; assuming Crowley didn’t discorporate first. The Nazis recognized him from around town and his infamous reputation. Rose, that was flower girl’s name, was eyeing him lustfully and he gave her a tip of his hat. Let them think he was just a playboy, Crowley needed to come up with a demonic plan and fast!

***

Aziraphale watched Crowley, the Nazis with guns trained on them temporarily forgotten. The demon was as dashing as ever. Even though Crowley had on his ever present sunglasses, Aziraphale was well aware the demon was staring at him.

Angels weren’t supposed to feel envy, but Aziraphale felt jealousy wash over him as Rose or rather Greta sighed Crowley’s name and gave him a flirtatious smile. The demon had tipped his hat, momentarily acknowledging her, but his attention was fixed on Aziraphale. Conflicting emotions swirled in angel’s mind and he tried to think of what to say.

“What does the J stand for?” Aziraphale asked, mentally kicking himself as the words left his mouth. It wasn’t like they’d never used fake names before.

Shrugging slightly as he danced from one foot to another, Crowley replied, “Just a J, really.” Then he tilted his head at the font. “Look at that. A whole font-full of holy water. It doesn’t even have guards.”

Aziraphale felt slightly guilty. During the Spanish Inquisition, Crowley had been drunk and depressed for weeks after receiving a commendation for it from Hell. The angel had stumbled onto him and been worried as the demon had talked at length about Heaven, Hell and Humanity. At one point, Crowley had sighed he didn’t know why they bothered and Aziraphale had told him how valuable holy water was and how well protected it was. Later when Crowley sobered up, Aziraphale realized that Crowley never intended to harm himself, but he’d never told the demon the truth.

“Enough babbling! Kill them both,” Mr. Glozier commanded Greta.

Crowley began to talk quickly but almost casually, “In a minute, a German bomber will release a bomb that will land right here. If you all run away very, very fast, you might not die. You won’t enjoy dying, and you definitely won’t enjoy what comes after.”

“You expect us to believe that? The bombs will fall on the East End tonight,” Mr. Glozier assured his companions.

 _What exactly was Crowley playing at?_ Aziraphale wondered.

“Yes. It would take a last minute demonic miracle to throw them off course, yes. You are all wasting your valuable running-away time.”

Aziraphale turned to look at Crowley. The demon wasn’t seriously doing what the angel thought he was about to. Was he?

“But if in thirty seconds, a bomb does land here,” Crowley said looking very pointedly from behind his sunglasses at Aziraphale. “It would take a real miracle for my friend and I to survive it.”

“A real miracle,” the angel repeated and began to think how exactly to accomplish such a thing without attracting Gabriel’s attention.

Mr. Harmony was unimpressed and dismissed them by calmly instructing Greta and Mr. Glozier, “Kill them. They are very irritating.”

Crowley gestured with both his hands, bringing them up to point skyward and Aziraphale felt the large burst of demonic energy in the air from the miracle and he looked up. There was no more time to think, there was the whistling sound of a bomb descending overhead. Slipping his hat on, Aziraphale took a needless breath then brought both hands up and snapped down as he focused on his miracle.

There was a bright flash of light and the church shook as the bomb hit and the shaking continued as the roof of the church and walls collapsed in a matter of seconds around them. Heat flared around but didn’t burn them, as anything flammable that hadn’t been buried under the stone rubble ignited.

As the smoke cleared, Aziraphale felt relieved to see Crowley standing a few feet away. The demon was casually pulling out a handkerchief and cleaning the lenses of his sunglasses as though nothing had happened.   
  
It wasn’t remotely how Aziraphale had intended the evening to go, but as he looked at Crowley, he felt a sense of joy. His embarrassment over his disastrous mission disappeared as looked at the demon. Diverting the bombs had required a huge draw of demonic power and Crowley had done it for him. Aziraphale nervously took his hat off and clutched it as he looked at Crowley.

“That was very kind of you.”

Crowley dismissed the angel’s thanks in a playful tone. “Shut up.”

“Well it was. No paperwork for a start,” Aziraphale insisted. Then a dreadful thought hit him. “The books! I forgot all about the books! They’ll have been blown to-”

The demon moved forward as the angel spoke and he reached down, wrenching something from the rubble. Aziraphale stared in shock as Crowley thrust a leather satchel with the books into his hands.

“Little demonic miracle of my own,” he said nonchalantly. “Lift home?”

Aziraphale stared at Crowley as he walked away.

As miracles went, saving the books was a small one. Caught up in the moment, they had slipped Aziraphale’s mind but not Crowley’s. Crowley who insisted he never did anything kind, after nearly eighty years apart, thought of Aziraphale’s books in the middle of saving the angel’s life.

It wasn’t just kind of the demon to save the books, it was loving. Crowley had saved both Aziraphale and his books as if he did that sort of thing every day. It was as if their fight had never happened. This was more than just friendship. This was-

Love! Crowley had shown him love! And Heaven help him, Aziraphale loved Crowley!

The feeling had been there beneath the surface for nearly two thousand years, but not once had Aziraphale ever allowed himself to admit it. As they gradually acknowledged their friendship, the love and attraction had continued to build slowly underneath and now the full scope seemed to explode inside Aziraphale.

“Coming angel?” Crowley called out part way down the aisle.

“Y-yes,” Aziraphale stammered and felt himself blushing. Clutching the satchel of books tightly in one hand, he put his hat on with the other and made his way through the rubble towards Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> During the Blitz, some cabs were requisitioned for firefighting and some still ran privately. The cab drivers would wear tin hats and drive amid the bombings. You can read more about it [here](http://blitzwalkers.blogspot.com/2014/05/a-z-of-blitz-c.html).
> 
> Bombs really did whistle sometime! In WWII it was a technique to weaken morale. Read more about it [here](https://history.stackexchange.com/questions/2686/did-world-war-ii-era-bombs-actually-whistle)


	4. Feel the Earth Move and Then

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley takes Aziraphale back to the bookshop. Bombs fall as their reunion takes an intimate turn.

The drive to the bookshop was mostly silent. Crowley tried to focus primarily on the road because he was driving without headlights, but now and then he stole a brief glance at Aziraphale. Darkness presented little obstacle for Crowley; he could see the angel clearly. Each time he looked in his direction, Aziraphale was staring at him with a dazed expression. Was he traumatized by the explosion or embarrassed by having been duped by the Nazis?

“Are you all right, angel?”

“Tickety boo,” Aziraphale replied in a distracted tone. He looked away from Crowley and down at the satchel of books.

The normally talkative angel was quiet; perhaps their fight wasn’t at an end as the demon had hoped. Crowley sighed to himself and began to prepare himself for their arrival at the bookshop and Aziraphale inevitably kicking him to the curb. Perhaps he might drop by with some smuggled chocolates next week? If it took small steps to get their friendship back, that’s what Crowley would do.

Friends. They were friends or, someone willing, would be again, but the urge for more felt overwhelming when he was in such close proximity to Aziraphale again. The scent of the angel’s cologne and his natural angelic scent teased Crowley’s senses beneath the scent of smoke that clung to them both from the explosion.

If it was merely physical desire, Crowley could dismiss the urge more readily. But this was more. He wanted Aziraphale to look at him the way he did at a stack of books or a particularly fine dessert. Just once, instead of the angel throwing Crowley’s being a demon back at him, to speak- well, tenderly to him, if Crowley was honest with himself.

Not once in his entire existence before or after the Fall had he ever heard someone say they loved him. Just once, Crowley wanted to hear those words and to hear them from Aziraphale.

The bookshop loomed ahead and Crowley pulled the Bentley up in a space across the street. He got out quickly, forced a careless facial expression, and opened the passenger door for Aziraphale.

“I could carry that for you,” Crowley offered, pointing to the satchel of books as Aziraphale got out and stood next to him.

“Thank you.”

They crossed the street and went inside the shop. Aziraphale turned on a single lamp and Crowley sat the books down. Aside from the electric lights, the shop hadn’t changed since the last time Crowley had been there. He tried in vain to think of a way to prolong the evening.

The angel removed his hat and coat, hanging them neatly on the hat rack. Then he removed his suit jacket as well and gave it a critical look before draping it over a nearby chair.

“I fear they’re ruined.”

Crowley snapped his fingers, miracling their attire so they both looked as if they hadn’t just been through an explosion.

“Thank you.” The angel gave him a strange look, probably wanting him to take his leave, the demon thought dejectedly.

“Right, well I guess I should-“

“Stay for a drink,” Aziraphale blurted out as Crowley was about to take his leave. The angel blushed in the dim light and added, “I mean, I thought we might catch up? I have a rather fine bottle of scotch I’d planned to open tonight.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

***

Aziraphale moved past Crowley to grab a couple glasses. This wasn’t the reunion he’d planned, but he was glad to have the demon in his shop. Two crystal tumblers in hand, the angel sat them on the desk where the scotch he’d selected the day before sat. He opened the bottle and began to pour.

A small movement caught Aziraphale’s attention. He turned just as Crowley tossed his black hat and it landed on the coat rack. No miracle, just the demon’s usual nonchalant suave grace. Aziraphale felt himself blushing as he spilled a bit of scotch on the glass as he resumed pouring.

He handed that glass to Crowley and snapped his fingers to light a few candles he kept in the shop for night time. The added illumination seemed to make Crowley looked more imposing and angular. As Crowley accepted the glass, a drop of the spilled scotch slid down the side and his serpentine tongue slid out to capture it. Feeling his face flush further with embarrassment, Aziraphale turned away to fill his own glass. 

Resisting the urge to nervously down his glass and pour another, Aziraphale joined Crowley. The demon was seated at one end of the sofa and the angel opted to sit in the chair opposite him. It was almost like before their falling out, except Crowley was sitting rather stiffly instead of draped with his customary casual elegance, and the angel felt nervous in his demonic companion’s company.

The closeness that had existed between them seemed to radiate a new light and he wondered if Crowley felt the same. It might have been easier to discern the demon’s state of mind if his eyes weren’t covered by his interminable sunglasses. Aziraphale sipped his glass nervously.

“So, the famous Mr. Anthony J. Crowley,” he said. “What was that all about?”

Crowley relaxed slightly. “Oh you know me, spreading temptation and all that. I have a theatre that features scantily clad women to lead men to question their life choices.”

“Oh?”

“Crowley’s Cuties.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale had heard of the infamous dancing girls but had never put it together before. It wasn’t the demon’s usual style.

“Won the theatre in a card game and decided to keep it going until the end of the war,” Crowley explained. He drained his glass and tilted it so one amber drop looped around the bottom in the candlelight for a moment before sitting it down on the table in front of him.

“Surely the war will end soon,” Aziraphale said.

“Wishful thinking, I fear, angel.”

“Suddenly you’re an expert on the war?” 

A strange expression crossed Crowley’s face then disappeared. He removed his sunglasses and wiped them with his handkerchief. With an almost studied air of casualness, he asked, “So what have you been up to? No doubt lots of good deeds. I imagine you haven’t sold many books; the shop looks the same.”

“I keep myself occupied,” Aziraphale answered. In the distance, the air raid siren began to sound once more. He finished his scotch. “Think I’ll fetch the bottle; it sounds like we’ll be here for a while.”

“I can leave if-“ Crowley was cut off as a bomb hit nearby. It was close enough it shook the book shop. He paused cleaning his glasses and looked up at Aziraphale.

“No, please stay. I’ll just get the bottle.”

Aziraphale stood up and was about to walk to the bottle when another bomb hit nearby. This time the ground shook so hard, he lost his footing. Crowley dropped his sunglasses as he leapt up to steady Aziraphale and prevent him from falling.

“Bloody humans. Clever enough to make automobiles and liquor but still trying to kill each other with bigger and bigger weapons,” Crowley said angrily as he held onto Aziraphale. “You okay, angel?”

More bombs sounded in the distance and Aziraphale cast an anxious glance towards the windows. “I miracled the shop, but I’m not sure if it will stand up to this.”

“We’ll be all right. I added a demonic miracle to protect your shop a while back.”

Aziraphale turned his gaze back to Crowley. He was still in the demon’s arms even though he’d regained his footing. Sunglasses gone, Crowley’s golden gaze met the angel’s in the dim lighting. Nervously, Aziraphale licked his lips under Crowley’s watchful eyes. There was a palpable shift between them. Tension seemed to crackle around them.

There was a loud whistle like there had been at the church, only this time it was a series and a cascade of bombs fell nearby. The ground shook so hard, books tumbled from shelves, then there was a crackle of ozone in the air as the electricity went out and the lamp went out. Only two candles remained lit, just enough illumination for them to see each other.

Crowley pulled Aziraphale tightly against him and suddenly closed the distance between their mouths. Lips met with a desperation that only thousands of years of longing and the prospect of imminent discorporation could bring. It was dizzying and Aziraphale would have collapsed if it hadn’t been for Crowley holding him upright in that moment.

After several minutes, Crowley pulled back, his pupils wide and a concerned expression on his face. “Angel, I-“

Aziraphale pulled the demon’s mouth back to his. Tonight they were at the edge of Hell on earth and the only thing that felt safe was Crowley. If he had to be discorporated, he wanted it to be in the demon’s arms.

*** 

Crowley was surprised but relieved when Aziraphale had kissed him back. He’d been afraid when he’d kissed the angel that he’d gone too far. Usually any kissing between them was fueled by massive quantities of alcohol. But the single scotch they’d drunk wasn’t enough to dismiss their kissing as a drunken mistake. This was real.

More bombs hit nearby; on the periphery of his senses, the lamp and table falling over registered dimly, but it did nothing to slow down their fevered embrace. Crowley twisted them around and backed Aziraphale towards the sofa. His body was demanding as much physical contact as possible with his angelic companion.

One of the table legs caught Crowley’s leg in the dark and he fell forward onto Aziraphale, causing them to land in a heap on the sofa. Even the unexpected and undignified heap they landed in didn’t slow them down. Aziraphale wrapped his legs around Crowley and pulled him close.

Maneuvering them so he was sitting up with the angel in his lap, the demon was rewarded with a soft moan from his companion as their fabric clad erections pressed together. Crowley ran his hands over Aziraphale’s back, his fingers skimming the silk lining fabric of his companion’s vest. His fingers itched to remove the garment and have closer contact.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley rasped as he pulled his mouth back for a moment “We don’t have to- I mean we can stop. I-“

“Don’t want you to stop.” The angel leaned forward to kiss Crowley again.

Crowley drew back once more and brought his hand up to cup Aziraphale’s face. “I don’t want to do anything you’re going to regret. You’re too important to me to ruin this- us, by being selfish, angel.”

“Taking love given freely isn’t selfish.”

“Love,” he echoed as he stared at Aziraphale. Was he really saying he loved him?

Aziraphale brought his short plump hand up over the demon’s long fingers that were cupping the angel’s face. “It’s taken me longer to realize it, but we’ve loved each other for a long time, I believe.”

“I scarcely can remember a moment of my existence I didn’t love you.”

“Then show me, Crowley,” the angel urged and turned his face into the demon’s palm and kissed it softly. “I’ve never done this before. Show me how to love you.”

Crowley pulled Aziraphale back into a kiss. All restraint gone, he kissed the angel with abandon. His demonic tongue explored and demanded from his angelic companion. His fingers moved to Aziraphale’s vest then started to pull back, but the angel caught his hand and brought it back to the buttons.

“Please,” Aziraphale entreated against Crowley’s mouth.

Slim fingers moved deftly along the row of buttons. Easing the vest off Aziraphale’s shoulders, Crowley tossed it to the floor. The angel’s fingers moved to the demon’s tie and he shyly started to undo the knot, but the knot proved difficult to untie.

“Here,” Crowley offered with a smile and quickly removed his tie and discarded it on the floor.

He gently guided Aziraphale onto his back, paused to remove his black jacket, then eased on top of the angel. Kissing Aziraphale’s neck, Crowley pulled gently on the tartan bow tie and removed it. His fingers made quick work of the buttons on Aziraphale’s blue shirt. When he pulled back so Aziraphale could pull his shirt off the rest of the way, Crowley removed his black shirt quickly. 

“A snake? Really?” Aziraphale commented as he saw Crowley’s belt buckle.

“Demon, part of the look, angel.”

“Bit on the nose, isn’t-“

Crowley cut him off with a kiss, both of them laughing when he lifted his face from Aziraphale’s.

“I’ve missed you,” the angel admitted with a wistful expression when they stopped laughing.

“I missed you, angel.”

“Promise me you won’t go away again, Crowley.”

Leaning down and gently rubbing his nose against the angel’s, the demon promised. “I’ll stay with you as long as you want me to stay.”

Another round of bombs fell and shook the bookshop.

Aziraphale wrapped his legs around Crowley’s waist and he held him close. “Stay with me until the end of the world?”

“And beyond,” Crowley assured him before sliding his mouth along the angel’s throat once more.

***

Aziraphale sighed as Crowley’s lips trailed the side of his neck. The hard planes of Crowley’s slim body pressed against the soft contours of his. It wasn’t something he’d allowed himself to imagine often, but the reality was far surpassing the fantasy he’d permitted himself to consider on rare occasions.

He felt slightly embarrassed as the demon’s hands skimmed his rounded abdomen, but the hard arousal of Crowley’s cock pressing against his thigh was reassuring. Any inhibitions faded away as the demon’s long fingers unfastened Aziraphale’s trousers and found their way inside his underwear. The few guilty touches he’d allowed himself hadn’t prepared Aziraphale for the incredible riot of sensations of Crowley palming his cock.

“I think you need to lose the trousers and underwear, angel.”

He nodded and Crowley slid off him to allow Aziraphale to remove the offending garments. Aziraphale slid off his shoes, then stood up to let his pants slide down. As he stepped out of them, Crowley hooked his fingers in the angel’s underwear and knelt down to pull them off. Clad only in his socks and sock garters, Aziraphale blushed slightly.

“Sit back,” Crowley commanded him.

Aziraphale quickly obeyed, eagerness pushing embarrassment back. He watched in shock and fascination as Crowley knelt down in front of him. The demon pressed the angel’s plump thighs apart exposing the angel’s erection. For several moments, Crowley seemed to devour the flesh with his eyes.

“Is it all right?” Aziraphale asked and instantly regretted it. It sounded so needy and he hated that. Over the years he’d spared little thought for the short fat organ between his thighs, but now as the demon gazed at it, the angel was plagued with doubt.

“Perfect,” Crowley assured him as his hand wrapped around the tumescent flesh and began to caress it. “A perfect little mouthful.”

Aziraphale might have protested the remark had Crowley not followed up by taking the dripping member into his mouth. A gasp escaped the angel’s lips as the demon’s tongue curled around and caressed Aziraphale’s cock.

Over the years, they had dined together on numerous occasions, but not once had Aziraphale seen Crowley eat anything with a fraction of the relish with which he devoured the angel’s plump erection.

Books had prepared Aziraphale for the mechanics of what they were doing, but they hadn’t half done justice to the glorious sensations Crowley’s mouth was creating. An exquisite pressure was forming in Aziraphale’s abdomen and he felt his cock swelling to the point of being almost painful, yet he never wanted the incredible sensation that was building to end.

His eyelids fluttered as sensation overwhelmed him. Every time he managed to focus, Aziraphale saw Crowley gazing up at him, the whites of his eyes obliterated by the golden irises as black pupils pushed wide. The demon’s mouth moved rhythmically around Aziraphale’s cock, pulling him further and further to the edge.

Trembling with pleasure and unable to keep his eyes open any longer, Aziraphale arched his back to feel as much of Crowley’s talented mouth as possible. His neatly manicured fingernails dug into the upholstery on either side of him. He felt as if he was spiraling off a wave of golden warmth until the pleasure hit a fever pitch and he came hard, his cock twitching as it spent in Crowley’s mouth.

Reality was still a bit fuzzy as Crowley released the angel’s cock. Aziraphale watched as the demon licked the pink member clean and pressed a kiss on white flesh above it. He watched as Crowley stood up. The demon snapped, miracling his shoes and socks off, then he smiled at the angel as his hands moved to the snake belt buckle.

Aziraphale’s blush returned as Crowley slid his trousers down, revealing a lack of undergarments and an intimidating looking erection. The angel wasn’t quire sure what to do with demon’s long thick cock, but he reached out curiously. Judging from the sharp intake of unnecessary breath from Crowley as Aziraphale touched him gingerly, he was doing something right.

He brought his other hand up and trailed it over the short red hair above Crowley’s erection and then slid it down to the tightly drawn up testicles below. The demon made reassuring murmurs as the angel explored. One hand cupping Crowley’s balls and the other caressing the hard length of his shaft, Aziraphale watched with fascination as a pearlescent drop of fluid appeared at the tip.

Hesitantly he darted his tongue out to taste it. It was salty with a faint hint of sweetness. Not unpleasant, simply new, Aziraphale decided as he considered it. He took the tip of Crowley’s cock into his mouth and tried to take him into his mouth all the way as the demon had done for him, but the impressive size was proving a challenge. Hoping to please but unsure, he sucked on the head and flicked it with his tongue.

Crowley made a sound as though he was enjoying Aziraphale’s attentions, but after a couple minutes, he pushed the angel’s shoulders back and drew back.

“Didn’t I do it right?”

“You did wonderfully, angel,” Crowley assured him. “But right now I want to make love to you.”

The demon pushed him back on the sofa and kissed him once again. Aziraphale wrapped one leg around Crowley’s waist so he could be closer. The velvety sensation of their cocks touching was incredible and Aziraphale felt himself quickly hardening once more. As their lips met, the heady feeling of need was almost narcotic as it consumed Aziraphale and drew him under the spell of Crowley’s touch.

Crowley propped himself up slightly to slide a hand between Aziraphale’s thighs. It skimmed the angel’s cock before sliding lower to circle softly against his puckered opening.

“Please,” Aziraphale moaned.

“Please what?” the demon teased.

Unsure of what he was asking for exactly but knowing the demon could give it to him, the angel begged. “Please, Crowley.” Aziraphale was dimly aware Crowley’s free hand snapped as the demon kissed him once more. He felt a single slim finger coated with something slick probe his tight opening and glide slowly inside. Gasping against Crowley’s mouth, Aziraphale took in the sensation of the demon’s finger pressing inside him.

A second slick digit eased inside Aziraphale’s previously unexplored bottom and he whimpered.

Instantly, Crowley froze and a worried looked crossed his face. “Are you all right, angel? Did I hurt you?”

“No,” Aziraphale said and shook his head. It was new and every nerve ending in his body felt like it was pulsating under Crowley’s ministrations. The large member pressed into his thigh would possibly hurt, he realized as his body adjusted to the slim fingers, but it wasn’t something he feared. His own smaller cock twitched at the thought of Crowley inside him.

“We can stop-“

“Don’t you dare, Crowley! Please, I want this. I want you. It’s new, yes, but I want you so very much.”

The demon responded by claiming the angel’s mouth once more and sliding his slick covered fingers in and out several times, then adding a third finger. There was a tiny twinge of discomfort as his body stretched to accommodate Crowley’s fingers, but Aziraphale felt a new sensation of pleasure rising up and pushing the discomfort aside as the long fingers found a sweet spot deep inside him.

Every now and then, Crowley would pull back from kissing and study Aziraphale’s face with concern. Any worries Aziraphale had melted away in the tenderness of the demon’s golden gaze. When the demon finally withdrew his fingers and positioned his cock against the angel’s entrance, Aziraphale smiled at him.

“I love you, angel,” Crowley said softly.

“Love yooooouuu-“ Aziraphale’s words slid off into a groan as the demon pressed against him and his cock pushed inside. Crowley’s cock had more girth than his fingers and Aziraphale felt a couple tears spill from his eyes. He worried Crowley would pull away from him and tried to blink them away.

Sheathed deep inside the angel, the demon remained still and gave a concerned look. “Do we need to stop?”

“N-no. I want this, it’s just- a lot.”

“You’re doing wonderfully,” Crowley praised him and he kissed the tears away.

Aziraphale relaxed as his body relaxed and stretched around the demon’s cock. The tip of Crowley’s cock was pressed against the spot that his fingers had teased earlier. He pulled the demon’s mouth to his and wrapped his rounded thighs around Crowley’s slim waist to urge him onwards.

Crowley began to move slowly, causing the angel to gasp with wonder. His cock grew harder between them as they started to move. As they coupled, the fullness of Crowley inside him seemed to tease nerve endings Aziraphale had never noticed before. Each thrust touched off a symphony of pleasurable sensations. 

As they moved together, Aziraphale’s cock was teased between Crowley’s flat abdomen and his own round one. It was different from when Crowley had stroked him but it was delightful, the angel decided as he held onto the demon and moved against him. Pleasure mounting, similar but differently from before. The dual sensation of Crowley’s cock inside him and his plump cock pressed between them was incredible.

“My angel,” Crowley groaned and leaned back, pulling Aziraphale with him so the angel was straddling him and they were both sitting upright.

The new angle allowed the demon’s cock deeper inside the angel. Sensations of pleasure rising faster, Aziraphale clung to Crowley. Caught up in the moment, the demon was growling softly as they moved faster. Pleasure mounted further and Aziraphale felt as if he might burst.

And then everything went blurry on a wave of golden bliss as Aziraphale’s cock trembled between them, Crowley’s burst with white hot passion inside the angel, and there was a sudden whoosh as their wings burst out simultaneously. The demon and the angel cried each other’s names with a mixture of love and desperation as they shuddered uncontrollably with pleasure for several long minutes.

Neither spoke, but Aziraphale felt Crowley growing hard once more and held onto him as tightly as he could. The love he felt for the demon was overwhelming and the angel didn’t want the night to ever end. In the morning they could deal with the complexities of the world, tonight they were together and that was all that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be sure to comment to [Clenster](https://clenster.tumblr.com/post/190665498066/the-set-of-images-i-did-for-sparkle-in-the-stars). She did such amazing art for this story! I couldn't have asked for anyone lovelier to work with!


	5. When It Crumbles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning comes and Aziraphale realizes he has to make a hard choice to keep Crowley safe. Sometimes the harsh light of day is harsh indeed.

Aziraphale stirred and blushed furiously as he realized both he and Crowley were quite naked. He might have been cold if it weren’t for the jet black wings that wrapped around him. At some point they’d collapsed from the dizzying heights of pleasure they’d explored and fallen asleep. The night had stretched endlessly and he suspected Crowley had miracled it so. Not that he minded, Aziraphale decided as he watched the demon in his deathlike sleep.

The sun wasn’t up yet, but the angel could sense it would be rising in another hour or so. He pressed a kiss to Crowley’s forehead, then slipped out of his arms and wings. A grumble came from the unconscious demon, but he remained asleep as Aziraphale blushingly picked up his clothes from the floor.

He felt sore in places, but it was a delicious and languorous feeling from last night’s lovemaking. Aziraphale had never known such joy as he had in Crowley’s arms and he stifled a giggle as he looked down and realized they never had gotten around to removing his socks and sock garters.

Should he miracle himself clean? the angel wondered as he felt sticky warmth leaking down his backside. Perhaps he would clean up a little in the bathroom, then he could make Crowley some tea, possibly wake him up and they could make love once more. It was still early and he had no desire to open the bookshop.

Aziraphale was about to head to the bathroom when the mirror that was hung up nearby caught his eye. Stuck in the mirror on one side was a white envelope that he instantly recognized as being from Heaven. On the opposite side was a pitch black one that he recognized as a missive from Hell; he’d seen Crowley receive them before.

Had they known what happened between them? Aziraphale worried.

His mood broken, the angel miracled himself clean and into fresh suit. He rarely miracled his clothing on, but he was too nervous to delay. Trembling slightly, the angel grabbed the white envelope from the mirror and tore the missive open.

_Greetings Principality Aziraphale,_

_You are to perform a blessing for Winston Churchill, bring comfort to the list of widows that is attached, and to inspire a Lieutenant Commander Ian Fleming to write - the latter of which came from the Metatron, no further details are available at this time._

_Gabriel_

_Additionally, please be aware of frivolous miracles._

Nothing about his night with Crowley, Aziraphale thought with relief and sank into the chair across from the sofa. Just an ordinary note. The sort he received on a regular basis. Hopefully Crowley’s was something similar.

_“My lot don’t send rude notes.”_

Crowley’s ominous words from the Bastille echoed in Aziraphale’s mind. He’d never forgotten them. Every time the demon did something generous, he would deny Aziraphale thanking him or insist he wasn’t nice. On the surface it had seemed like mere words, but how serious had Crowley been? Was he in real danger?

A frown marred Aziraphale’s features as he watched the demon sleep. What would happen if they were ever found out? He used to worry endlessly about what might happen to Crowley if their arrangement were found out and that was just as friends. As lovers... Aziraphale shivered as a chill ran down his spine.

If he was found out, Heaven would demote him and maybe he’d Fall. But if Hell found out about Crowley loving an angel? They’d destroy him. Seducing and despoiling an angel might garner praise, but loving one, that would mean Crowley’s destruction.

Facing God about giving away the sword, sternly worded notes from Gabriel, even last night when he’d faced discorporation at the hands of the Nazis; Aziraphale was never really afraid. The only thing he’d ever truly feared was Crowley being destroyed. On the rare occasions the demon truly failed, the angel had been terrified until the next time he saw Crowley.

As hard as it had been living without Crowley in his life for nearly eighty years, the prospect of an eternity was too much to bear. Even if they weren’t together, he had to know Crowley was safe somewhere in the universe. Aziraphale had to keep him safe, even if meant-

“Giving him up,” the angel whispered in horror as the realization of what he had to do hit him.

***

Crowley roused at the sound of his name. He blinked in confusion for a moment as he realized his wings were out. Then he smiled as he saw Aziraphale and sat up as memories of last night flooded back. Drawing his wings back in, he reached up and took Aziraphale’s hand, intending to pull him into his lap. 

The angel pulled back and said, “I think you’d better get dressed.”

Golden eyes flickered with concern and the demon snapped his fingers, miracling all his clothing but his hat and sunglasses on. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong,” Aziraphale replied, brushing Crowley aside as he stood up and tried to pull the angel into an embrace. He gestured to the black envelope on the mirror. “I believe you have a note from head office.”

Eyes darting back to Aziraphale, Crowley grabbed the envelope and tore it open. “A commendation for blowing up the church last night.”

“Well, at least some good came out of last night.”

“Aziraphale?” 

“You know what I mean, blowing up a church. I’m glad there was some good that came out of it.”

“Right,” Crowley agreed in an unconvincing tone. The note turned to flames and ash in a matter of seconds, then disappeared into the ether. A smile crossed the demon’s lips and he pulled Aziraphale close and murmured playfully, “Can I tempt you to some breakfast?”

The angel pulled back. “I don’t think so, Crowley.”

“Angel, I don’t understand. Last night we were as close as two beings on the earth can possibly be. This morning, you’re acting as if nothing happened.”  
  
“Last night,” Aziraphale began, then bit his lip and looked away unable to meet Crowley’s eyes. “Last night was a mistake.”

“That’s not funny. You don’t mean that. Don’t say things like that.”

“I was caught up in being rescued and touched you saved my books.”

The demon moved closer. “Angel, we both know last night wasn’t about some damned books. You sure as heaven didn’t surrender your virtue over me rescuing you.”

“Gracious Crowley,” Aziraphale said lightly. “You sound like one of those talkies, you’re being so dramatic.”

“I don’t understand. What did I do wrong?” Crowley asked, his voice laced with pain as he searched Aziraphale’s face for answers.

After several long moments, Aziraphale said at last. “I am an angel. You are a demon.”

“Well aware, have been for thousands of years. What does that have to do with last night?”

“I love you, Crowley.”

Relief was visible on the demon’s face. “I should certainly hope so.”

“You misunderstand. I love you, but it’s in the way I love all creatures.”

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s upper arms and held him close; his golden eyes plumbing the depths of the angel’s hazel eyes desperately. “You gave yourself to me, angel. That’s the not the way you love all creatures.”

“I was caught up in the romance of being rescued. You’re very dashing,” Aziraphale explained. Then added, “When you’re not being demonic.”

“So you were caught up in the moment, fucked me or rather let me fuck you, and this morning you’re regretting having let a demon sully your angelic corporation? Is that it?”

“I’m sorry if I mislead you, I’m truly grateful for the rescue last night.”

Releasing his grip on Aziraphale, Crowley turned away. He nearly stumbled as he grabbed his sunglasses and put them on. There was nothing left to say.

“See you around, angel.” Crowley said and walked out of the bookshop with as much dignity as he could muster, having just had his heart ripped out.

***

Aziraphale felt as if he would collapse under the weight on his chest as he watched Crowley walk away. He wanted to cry out and stop him, but he couldn’t. Crowley would be in danger if they were together. Was it possible to discorporate from a broken heart? the angel wondered as he stared at the doorway.

Crowley had forgotten his hat; the black fedora contrasted sharply with Aziraphale’s off white hat, the angel noted as he finally turned away. He staggered to the sofa and collapsed. It was still warm from the demon’s body heat and the scent of their lovemaking clung to the cushions.

A black feather peeped out from beneath a throw pillow. Aziraphale reached to pick it up, but instead fell forward onto the pillow and began to sob. He’d shed a tear or two when moved, but not once had he actually wept before. Angels had no reason to cry, but this one did as his heart twisted at the loss of the demon he loved.

***

Sitting in the Bentley, Crowley might have cried if he hadn’t been in such shock. After nearly six thousand years, he thought he knew Aziraphale. Last night, the angel had given himself so completely. Then this morning-

It wasn’t that Aziraphale had never thrown his demonic status at Crowley before, but there had never been such a level of cruelty. A part of him wanted to run back into the bookstore and beg Aziraphale to try to see him as more than just a demon, but what little pride he had left made him start the Bentley and drive away.

In the early morning light, Crowley saw a building down the road that was still smoldering and blocking his path. Ordinarily he might have miracled his path clear, but he couldn’t summon the will and instead turned down the road. He’d take another route, go home and get drunk. This called for getting even drunker than the time Hell gave him a commendation for the Spanish Inquisition and then discovering what it actually was.

The streets of London were quiet still as he maneuvered the Bentley. Up ahead the road was clear, but he saw the smoke from another collapsed building. Crowley drove onwards, then stopped the car in the middle of the road when he realized he was in front of the church.

He got out and stormed into the wreckage. Pain and rage coursed through him and he began to scream one word over and over. “Why?!”

Debris flew around violently and remaining pieces of architecture exploded from the demon’s fury. Crowley wasn’t miracling the destruction; reality was bending under the weight of his grief.

He yelled until his voice was hoarse and his knees gave out and he collapsed to the ground. Lip trembling, he pulled his glasses off and looked upwards, amber eyes awash with unshed tears as he whispered one last time, “Why? Oh angel, why?”

Crowley swallowed reflexively and put his sunglasses back on. As much as he wanted to weep, he didn’t dare. Demons didn’t cry and Hell would know if Crowley cried. He stood up and started to leave the church when he spotted the eagle lectern in the rubble. Last night, the Bible it had held burned behind Aziraphale, illuminating the angel’s features. This morning, it was a cold and empty piece of stone.

He snapped his fingers and the statue disappeared as Crowley walked out of the church. The Bentley’s trunk was ajar with the statue peeking out as the demon climbed into the car and started to drive once more.

***

Aziraphale was a wreck. He’d cried for hours until he hadn’t tears left. His bookshop normally brought him comfort but now it felt empty, and the couch where Crowley had made love to him was a painful reminder. The look in the demon’s eyes when he’d rejected him would haunt him until the end of time. Every time he thought of it, the hurt would blossom anew.

He miracled himself a pair of sunglasses to hide his red eyes and went outside to hail a cab. Gabriel would expect him to carry out his duties and would have no sympathy for any delay. Aziraphale read through the list of widows in the back of the cab and snapped his fingers to send a small bit of comfort to them. He deserved no comfort after what he did to Crowley, the angel thought miserably.

To bless Churchill, Aziraphale had the cab stop outside Dowling street and he blessed him quickly from outside. All but one task finished, Aziraphale slid back into the cab. He had no idea who Lieutenant Commander Ian Fleming was, nor why he was supposed to inspire him to write. But the orders had supposedly come from the Metatron.

Lieutenant Commander was a naval rank. The Admiralty was on his way to the shop. He could have the cab stop, then he could find out where Ian Fleming was stationed and then inspire him; though how the Hell he was supposed to do that, Aziraphale wasn’t sure. But perhaps if he got this out of the way, he could put up a sign that his shop was closed for the next week and see how long it took to drink his way through his wine cellar.

The Admiralty was busy when Aziraphale arrived, though he imagined it was most of the time. He wasn’t sure where to start his inquiry but a middle aged woman with a friendly face paused.

“Are you lost?” she asked kindly.

“I am a bit turned around,” Aziraphale replied and offered her a ghost of a smile out of habit. “I’m here for information about Lieutenant Commander Ian Fleming.”

“Let me show you to an office and I’ll fetch him for you, Mr.-“

“Fell. But I don’t need to actually talk to him, Miss-“

“Pennycook,” she supplied pleasantly and left Aziraphale in a small quiet office before he could protest further.

Aziraphale considered taking off before the man could join him. He had no idea how to inspire a man he knew nothing about. His purpose had been finding out about him, not talking to him.

A couple minutes later a dark haired man came into the office. “Mr. Fell? You’re not from A.Z. Fell books?”

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

“I don’t suppose you’re acquainted with a red haired man named Anthony?” Ian asked with a sigh and sat down.

Aziraphale hesitated; he’d already hurt Crowley, he wasn’t about to betray him. Gabriel could demote him but he was leaving, and Lieutenant Commander Fleming could find inspiration elsewhere.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about and I believe I have the wrong Ian Fleming.”

“My best agent walked out of here yesterday to save a bookseller. What do you say to that, Mr. Fell?”

Agent? Of course, that was how Crowley knew about the church, Aziraphale realized. A mixture of admiration and annoyance flooded him. “I’d say that bookseller was extremely lucky. Good day, Lieutenant Commander.”

“I don’t suppose you know what the J is for?” Ian called out as Aziraphale disappeared.

***

Crowley sat on his gilded throne and snapped his fingers. The eagle lectern from the church appeared in the empty alcove and on the street, the Bentley’s trunk closed tightly once more. He stared at it and poured himself a glass of scotch. A memento from his one and only night with Aziraphale and a reminder that however much he cared, the angel would never be his.

He took a sip of scotch; the familiar burn was welcome as it momentarily distracted him from his pain. The phone rang and Crowley’s heart raced. Aziraphale?!

“Angel,” Crowley murmured, answering the phone.

“It’s Ian,” the voice replied.

“Fleming,” the demon responded. “I thought we parted company permanently yesterday.”

“St. James Park, usual spot, one hour.”

The line went dead.

Crowley drained his glass and tilted his head as he looked at the statue. He could still see the glow of the flames creating a halo around Aziraphale.

“And here I thought a million light year dive into boiling sulphur hurt,” he muttered under his breath.

He ought to get drunk and forget the meeting, after all he’d become a spy to keep London safe for the angel. Now that Aziraphale had cast him aside, what was the point? Crowley tried to convince himself.

But he still wanted the angel safe. He still loved Aziraphale.

“You may not love me, but I’ll keep you safe until the end of time,” Crowley said in the direction of his newest acquisition. “Not that much different than before. No hope of a future with him and one night to cling to for eternity.”

Crowley pushed the bottle aside and an hour later, he walked into St. James Park for his meeting.

In almost cruel irony, Ian was standing where Crowley had asked Aziraphale for holy water and triggered their fight. He walked to the railing beside Fleming and pretended to watch the ducks.

“Your bookseller is unharmed. He came looking for me.”

Crowley’s eyes widened behind the lenses of his glasses. “I certainly didn’t say anything about working for Intelligence.”

“No, I’m a bit confused about why he came in exactly.” Ian had the sort of dazed expression humans often had after an encounter with an angel or a demon.

“Is there a point to this meeting?” Crowley pushed, unwilling to discuss Aziraphale with anyone.

“In case there’s any heat in London after your escapade, I think it might do you some good to carry out a mission on foreign soil.”

“If I were your agent, I might be inclined to agree.”

“Your gun and badge,” Ian said and briefly inclined his head at a briefcase by his feet. “Along with several dossiers you’ll need to familiarize yourself with; there are also several gadgets and instructions from the quartermaster.”

“Good old Q,” Crowley replied. “Anything else I should know?”

“It’s dangerous.”

“Always is.” The demon shrugged as he stared at a duck and watched it sink, then he gestured and brought it back to life. His human companion didn’t notice. Not much fun killing ducks without Aziraphale to yell at him.

“Crowley” Ian said in a low voice. “You might not come back from this one. It’s practically a suicide mission.”

“Not worried.”

“You should be,” the man admonished.

Crowley slid his sunglasses down and for the first time ever. let Ian see his eyes. “I’m not worried.”

“Perhaps not,” Fleming replied as he took in the demon’s unnatural gaze.

“It there’s nothing else, I’ll be on my way.”

“Don’t suppose you’ll tell me what the J stands for?”

The demon’s lips curved in a slight smile, “Maybe when I get back.”

Crowley snatched the briefcase and walked away. He didn’t care where he was headed, if he could make the world a safer place for Aziraphale. As long as London was where the angel wished to call home, Crowley would keep the city safe. Maybe he wasn’t worthy of Aziraphale’s love, but didn’t mean he wouldn’t stop trying.

***

As Crowley walked away, Ian pulled a notebook out of his pocket and wrote down:

_Suggest Goldeneye as operation name to Godfrey._

Then he flipped to the next page and wrote down _John, Justin, Jordan, James, Jeremy_

After looking for a moment, he circled _James_ and slipped the notebook in his pocket.

“Good luck, Anthony J. Crowley,” Ian murmured to himself before turning and leaving the park.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was painful to write, but I wanted to keep them in canon and I feel like they both would twist themselves up and destroy themselves to keep each other safe.
> 
> I've got a sequel story in the works with a happy ending for Crowley and Aziraphale.
> 
> Rear Admiral Godfrey put Ian Fleming in charge of Operation Goldeneye between 1941 and 1942. The mission was based in Spain and nothing ever really happened with it.
> 
> However in 1946, Ian Fleming built an estate in Jamaica which he named Goldeneye and it's where he penned his James Bond Novels. 
> 
> We'll likely never know what the J really stood for, but I think Crowley would have liked being the inspiration for James Bond.
> 
> Aziraphale was very confused when he received a commendation for inspiring Ian Fleming to write. It wouldn't be until a drinking session with Crowley in the time leading up to the apocanot the the angel would find out Crowley ahd inspired Ian to write.


End file.
